


Ask Me Again in Ten Years

by missgreeneinthlibrary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, F/M, Forgiveness, Healing, Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Post - A Game of Thrones, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgreeneinthlibrary/pseuds/missgreeneinthlibrary
Summary: So I saw this JonSa post a few weeks back with the quote and images below. While I do not like the way GoT ended, I felt that this was such an accurate description of where these two were at the end of the series and it's been nagging at my brain ever since, so I'm going to very slowly work on this fic. I'm not 100% sure where it's going, but I've just got to write it because it's distracting me. Also, credit to @ravenbloodybaby on tumblr for the post. I'm not sure if that's where the post originally came from, but that's where I found it. And a reminder that I own nothing except an overactive imagination.





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw this JonSa post a few weeks back with the quote and images below. While I do not like the way GoT ended, I felt that this was such an accurate description of where these two were at the end of the series and it's been nagging at my brain ever since, so I'm going to very slowly work on this fic. I'm not 100% sure where it's going, but I've just got to write it because it's distracting me. Also, credit to @ravenbloodybaby on tumblr for the post. I'm not sure if that's where the post originally came from, but that's where I found it. And a reminder that I own nothing except an overactive imagination.

“She’s here the same day every year. Like clockwork, Lord Commander.” Sedgwick, a boy of two and twenty said, as though this was new news to Jon. “She left two days ago. If you ride South now, you could catch her.”

Jon studied the youth, with his hopeful eyes and patchy facial hair. 

“You going to just let her keep comin’ every year and never see her?” Sedgwick pressed.

“You’re being impertinent again, Sedge.” Jon reminded his valet.

The boy’s ruddy cheeks turned red. Jon was never too harsh with the boy. He was impertinent, but there was worse things. He had a good heart and he was loyal. He was just young and time would take care of most of his failings.

Jon couldn’t remember ever being that young. Perhaps he never was. Perhaps there’s something aging about growing up in the belief that you are a bastard that makes you old before your time.

He used to wear the name Snow as a badge of shame, but after learning the truth of his birth, he found that it wasn’t so easy to part with the identity that formed the man he had become. Even now, ten years after the burning of King’s Landing, he couldn’t bring himself to take on the name given to him by his mother at birth. By rights he was Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, but in his heart he would always be Jon Snow. In his heart, he was the bastard son of Ned Stark. In his bones he would always be more Stark than Targaryen. In the end, that was what tipped the scales and guided his dagger into his beautiful queen’s heart. She was his queen, but he was Ned Stark’s son first.

If he hadn’t stopped her, it would have been the end of the Starks. She would not have endured anyone who opposed her. While Arya might have survived by sailing off the map of the known world, Sansa would not have part so easily with the North.

At the time of Sansa’s betrayal, he’d wanted to hate her, but even in the heat of his anger he never could hate her.

When they’d bid farewell at the docks of King’s Landing, he couldn’t offer her forgiveness, but he couldn’t hate her.

It was by chance that he’d been beyond the Wall the first time she came to the Wall on the anniversary of their parting. He’d returned to find a new cloak in his chambers, one like their father’s… her father's.

He’d known even then, that it was an invitation. An invitation to come home. A year had passed without word from the Unsullied, and it looked as though they were content to forget Westeros or had met misfortune on the sea. But Jon could not forget so easily. He could not forget that Sansa had betrayed his confidence to Tyrion in an act that contributed to the Dragon Queen’s madness.

It was a month later when he received the first raven. She never mentioned her attempted visit or the cloak she’d left. She simply sent tidings of the seven kingdoms. She told him of Bran’s progress rebuilding King’s Landing and Arya’s return from the West. It was no surprising when, several months later, Arya showed up at the Wall. She stayed for several weeks, but he knew she wouldn't stay for good. It was not in Arya's nature to stay in any one place long.

Sansa's notes were infrequent, but Jon found himself watching the sky for ravens. When he rode North of the wall for extended visits to the Wildlings, he always came back hopeful of word from Sansa. He was almost always rewarded with her small, neat handwriting in a note that was always far to brief.

After that first year, he started a hundred notes, but he never sent a single one. He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know how to write her without forgiving her and he couldn’t forgive her. Even thinking of her brought chaos to his mind and chased away his hard earned peace. He could never hate her, though. Perhaps it would have been easier if he could simplify his feelings to hatred.

As the second anniversary of their parting approached, Jon decided to take another extended trip North of the wall. He didn’t know for certain she would come again, her infrequent notes never suggested a visit, but he felt certain she would come. When he arrived back at the wall a month after, his suspicion of an attempted visit was confirmed by his men and the fact that his chambers smelled of her and all his worn out clothing had been carefully mended. On his favorite shirt, he found a carefully embroidered wolf in thread as red as her hair. He pulled on the shirt and ran a finger over the lovely red wolf who made her home over his heart.

He sat before his fire for hours that night. By morning, he had a note written, a simple thing that touched on Arya’s visit and Tormund making a tall blonde woman, who greatly resembled Brienne, his woman. He could almost see her face as he wrote the words. She would smile, but only slightly. Like him, he doubted she laughed much these days. As children, neither of them had been quick to laugh. Him because he was so often sulking. Her because it was too undignified for a young lady to lapse into fits of giggles. But she’d laughed with him at Castle Black. Her laughter still echoed these halls in his dreams. As he watched the raven disappear with his note, he realized that it was a sound he would dearly love to hear again… just not yet.

Over the years, the ravens back and forth grew more frequent, but on the anniversary of their parting, he always rode away from the Wall, just as she rode to it. She never mentioned the failed visits or asked if he was avoiding her. They both knew why she came and they both knew why he left. Still, she came and he was glad she did, even if he couldn’t bring himself to see her.

_You could catch her._

Sedgwick’s suggestion haunted him as he retreated to his chambers, so much colder since Ghost’s passing three years before. On his table, he found a single winter rose. Jon picked up the blue bloom and rested the soft petals against his lips. Soft… soft as a kiss, but cooler. He tried to picture the long dead Dragon Queen’s face, but all he could recall was that she had been beautiful. He couldn’t remember the way her hair fell into her face or the way she smiled. Had she smiled? She must have, but he didn’t know anymore.

But Sansa… Hers was a face no amount of time could erase from his mind or heart. His half sister. His cousin. His responsibility. His poison and his paradise. As much as he resented her, he missed her that much more. Ten years was far too long a time to spend so far away from the one person who had made it easy to smile.

That’s when he realized why he’d continued to avoid her visits. Not to hurt her… but to hurt himself. His punishment for his sins was to condemn himself to a life without a reason to smile. A life without her.

_You could catch her._

With a reluctant sigh, he tossed the rose in the fire. Maybe in another year.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually have a plan now, so this isn't just plotless ramblings. It's most definitely ramblings, just not plotless ;)

”Ready to give up yet?” Arya asked the moment Sansa walked into her chambers. Arya had not been at Winterfell when Sansa left for the Wall, but Sansa had grown used to her strange sister reappearing without word or warning. 

Sansa didn’t respond right away as she shrugged off her heavy travel cloak. The journey became more exhausting every year. She wasn't sure if that was due to the distance, or the rejection she found at its end. Was she ready to give up on reconciliation and accept that the occasional raven was the only connection she could hope to share with Jon? Ten years. Ten futile visits. The journey to the Wall was not a short or comfortable one. But was she ready to give up?

“No.” 

A soft huff of laughter escaped Arya. 

Sansa looked over at her sister for the first time. The small, dark haired girl stood by the fire, but there was something odd about her silhouette. Her usually slight frame was oddly rounded in the middle.

“Arya?” Sansa met her sister’s gaze.

“Gendry says I shouldn’t be galavanting across the country side in my condition.” Arya shrugged as though that explained everything.

“You and Gendry?” Sansa pressed, dying for more information, but knowing her sister to well to expect a satisfactory explanation. 

“The thickheaded fool finally figured it out.” Arya said.

“Figured it out?” 

“That I didn’t have to be a Lady to be his family.” She smiled, something a bit smug in that expression. She was happy. The realization warmed Sansa’s chest but strangely made her eyes burn with sadness for herself.

“He’s right. You shouldn’t be riding all around Westeros in your condition.” Sansa said.

“I know.” Arya said, sinking into one of Sansa’s chairs and wiggling down to make herself comfortable. “Just don’t tell him that.”

“How long until your time?” Sansa asked, joining her sister by the fire.

“A few months yet.” Arya said, placing a hand on her slightly rounded stomach. “Enough time to make the journey home.”

Home… Sansa’s heart tightened to hear her sister refer to somewhere other than Winterfell as home.

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._ Their father’s old adage had preserved their family through the long night. But then the Starks had separated, each going their own way. Sansa had returned home, because it seemed right. It seemed her duty to be the Stark in Winterfell, after all their father had said that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. 

So how was it that she’d become the lone wolf while her siblings had gone on to form new packs? It had never been her intention to end up so utterly alone.

“Why do you do it?” Arya asked.

“Do what?” Sansa asked, looking into the fire instead of meeting her sister’s gaze.

“You know what.” Arya pressed.

Sansa knotted her hands in her lap. She did, in fact, know what. Why did she go every year. Why did she take a three week journey each way to spend one day at the Wall when she knew that Jon wouldn’t be there? She knew he didn’t want to see her, would likely never want to see her, so why subject herself to the pain and reminder?

“Because he’s stuck there.” Sansa said. “He’s in exile because of me, because of what I did.”

“He’s Lord Commander of the Wall. He’s king beyond the Wall in all but name.” Arya said. “He’s not suffering.”

Sansa met her sister’s gaze. Oddly, knowing Jon was well did nothing to make her feel better. How could he be okay when he was so very far from home?

“But you are suffering.” Arya realized, her eyes softening with sympathy.

Sansa looked away, not wanting her sister’s pity.

“Why aren’t you happy? What more do you want?” Arya asked, unintentionally echoing the very same question Littlefinger once asked her. 

_Why aren’t you happy? What is it that you want that you do not have?_

“I have everything I ever wanted.” Sansa said, she licked her lips as she considered her next words carefully. “But not what I needed.”

“And what did you need?” Arya asked.

“Family.”

* * *

Sansa watched as her sister rode down the King's Road. It felt wrong to again be the only Stark in Winterfell, but better, she supposed, than no Stark in Winterfell. Arya claimed she was riding back to Storm’s End, but Sansa didn’t believe her. Her sister hadn’t come this far just to visit her. While they were much closer than they had been as children, they were sisters not friends.

Surely Arya was going to the Wall. And just as surely Jon would receive her when she arrived. Sansa tried to suppress the sting of the knowledge that Jon would eagerly greet Arya, but still, even ten years after her transgression, would not see her. Would he smile and kiss Arya’s forehead in greeting? No, she didn’t think so.

At least… She hoped he would not.

While Arya had been Jon’s favorite sibling when they believed him to be their half brother, Sansa had always been something else.

Even now, she could recall the charge that had shot through her every time they touched. Had he felt it as well? She thought perhaps he had. He always knew her touch from any other. She’d seen it time and time again that she could call him with word or touch from his hottest show of temper. Foolishly, she’d allowed herself to believe that mean something. 

But then he’d gone South to find an ally in the Dragon Queen and instead returned without a crown and with a lover. It had felt like a dagger in her heart every time she saw the looks that passed between him and Daenerys. She wanted to believe that her dislike of the Dragon Queen had come from some insight into her unstable character. She wanted to believe it, but it wasn’t true, at least not at the start. At the start, her hatred of the white-haired queen had less to do with reason and more to do with passion. 

As time passed, her reason for dislike was cemented by the cracks she saw in the Queen’s facade. And she received confirmation that her dislike was warranted. She saw the instability and she realized that neither the North or her family would be safe so long as that Queen lived.

When Jon told them the truth of his birth, she’d wanted to be able to keep her word. She wanted to be able to give Jon anything he asked for, but somethings were more important than what Jon wanted. Seeing the fear in Tyrion’s eyes was the final straw, convincing her that she had no choice. 

Daenerys may have been the queen Jon had chosen, but he had chosen foolishly.

She told Tyrion of Jon’s parentage, not just for the sake of the North, but for Jon. Despite her warnings to be smarter than Robb, he had erred far worse than Robb had ever managed. Jon had confided his birth to his love, not seeing that this was the very thing that would make it impossible for the dragon queen to keep him alive.

Taking Littlefinger’s advice, she played a little game. She imagined Daenerys’s worst possible reasons for saying and doing all she said and did. And the worst possible reason she could imagine was the the queen believed it was her destiny. All sorts of sins can be justified that way. And what was the life of one secret heir to the throne next to destiny? 

The throne would never be securely Daenerys’s so long as Jon drew breath, so there was only one logical solution. For her to kill Jon, tamp out whatever rebellion remained in the North, and name herself the undisputed queen of the seven kingdoms.

For the sake of her family. For the sake of the North. For the sake of Jon… She did what had to be done. She didn’t regret her actions, only that she hadn’t done more. Perhaps she should have taken Arya’s advice to stick ‘em with the pointy end and plunged the dagger into the dragon queen’s heart herself. Had she done so before Daenerys had shown her madness, she would have doubtless been killed by the Unsullied and Dothraki, regardless of what her family did to save her. But what was her life compared to the thousands who died screaming in King’s Landing?

That was truly what she was apologizing for when she parted from Jon that fateful day now ten years past.

She was sorry that her inaction had cost the lives of thousands, forced Jon to kill the woman he loved, and sent the person she held most dear into exile.

Had she to do it over again, knowing what she knew now, she would have done what needed to be done. It was blood on her hands she would have gladly lived… or died with. 


End file.
